


A Nightmare Come True

by jilloreilly



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Appendicitis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Character, Sickfic, Vomiting, Whump, i love my baby, radar needs sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-11-03 20:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jilloreilly/pseuds/jilloreilly
Summary: Appendicitis tends to put one out of action for a bit. Unfortunately, being useless is sort of Radar's worst nightmare.





	A Nightmare Come True

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of notes! Whee! First off, I'm kind of excited because I've never written Trapper or Henry before. I've always opted the BJ/Potter route, but hey, I needed something new. 
> 
> Second off, I don't think the actual WRITING turned out great, but the story is cute, so hopefully you'll get some feels. We love a pet-name-using Margaret. 
> 
> Third off, in Abyssinia, Henry, Henry mentioned Radar had a terrible case of appendicitis and referred to him as "one sick kid(do)." It was a cute scene and took place before the series, so here it is. 
> 
> FOURTH and last of all, you're entirely welcome for the image of tiny season-1-or-before Radar slowly falling backwards off the benches. It came to me and I had to share it. Please appreciate it, thank you.

“Radar O’Reilly? Not eating? What is the world coming to?” Hawkeye smirked, watching Radar pick slightly miserably at his food. The young corporal didn’t even raise his chin.  
“I’m not hungry.” Radar muttered. Hawkeye and Trapper eyed each other suspiciously.  
“You’ve been hungry since we entered the war, kid.” Trapper smiled, nudging Radar’s shoulder. “What’s going on with you?”  
“Nothing.” Radar mumbled.  
“Something.” Hawkeye retorted. “What’s up?”  
“I’m just not hungry! That’s all!” Radar half-whined, forcefully putting down his fork.  
“Whoa! Hey, we didn’t mean any harm! We’re just worried!” Hawkeye and Trapper put their hands up surrender-style. “But you’ve really convinced me now. Clearly,” Hawkeye’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “you’re fine.”  
Radar let his face fall into his palm, propping his head up. “I’m sorry, sirs. Uncle Ed woulda taken me behind the shed for talkin’ like that.”  
“Whatsamatter?” Trapper asked. “Tell your Aunt Hawkeye and Uncle Trapper about it, son.”  
“Why do I have to be the aunt?” Hawkeye elbowed Trap.  
Radar ignored Trapper’s grin. “Nothing. My stomach kinda hurts, that’s all.” Despite the breezy tone in his voice, he was slouching further and further, hunched over his belly.  
“Anybody’s stomach would hurt after eating as much of this food as you have.” Hawkeye snorted.  
“Yeah.” Radar had slid down in his seat, face flat on the table and backside sticking straight out from the back of the bench.  
“Radar, if you slink down any further, you’re going to end up flat on the ground.”  
“Oh.” Radar made a halfhearted attempt to pull himself back up, failing and slipping down further. “...I think I might be stuck.”  
Hawkeye bit back a snort. The kid was starting to disappear under the table.  
Trapper leaned forward, eyeing the boy’s pale complexion. “Hey, you know, you’re not lookin’ so good. Do you feel okay besides a bellyache?”  
“Oh, yessir, I feel fine.” Radar mustered a smile, clearly having some difficulty wriggling his body back upright. “Don’t worry about me. Please.”  
“You sure? You’re looking a little clammy.”  
“I’m okay, sir. Just a little tired.”  
Without giving the young corporal time to react, Trapper reached across the table and flattened his hand against Radar’s forehead and cheeks.  
“Hey, kid, you’re a little warm.”  
“What?” Radar slapped his hand to his own face, as if trying to prove Trapper wrong. “No...n-no, I’m not!”  
“Yeah, Radar, you are. That’s a fever.”  
“Oh-ho, no it’s not. I don’t get sick.”  
As Radar went back to picking at his food, Trapper nudged Hawkeye, motioned at Radar. Hawkeye nodded “Okay, Radar, why don’t we check you out and just make sure, alright? If you feel as bad as you’re starting to look, maybe you oughta be in bed.”  
“I’m not going to bed. I have work to do.”  
“Radar.” Hawkeye and Trapper got to their feet. “Up. Now.” The two older men each hooked an arm under Radar’s and hauled him up.  
Once they’d gotten him outside, Hawkeye put his hand across Radar’s forehead. “Trap’s right. Guess medical school managed to teach him something, at least. You’re warm.”  
Radar shook his head. “I’m just a little hot. I’m wearing a few layers. I’m fine.”  
Hawkeye cupped Radar’s chin in his hand, making the young corporal’s round cheeks resemble a fish. “A fever doesn’t mean you’re fine. A fever means you’re sick.”  
“I’m not ‘sthick’.” Radar said through a muffled voice, then shaking Hawkeye’s hand away. “I feel fine.”  
“What about your stomachache?” Hawkeye exclaimed.  
Radar mustered a smile. “My stomach is starting to feel better. In fact, I think I was just hungry. I’ll go back and eat. Let’s go back in.”  
“Rada—”  
“I’m not sick.”  
“Ra—”  
“I’m NOT SICK!”  
“Okay! Fine!” Hawkeye put his arms above his head in surrender. “You’re not sick.”  
“I mean, sure. My stomach hurts a little, but…”  
Trapper smiled knowingly at Hawkeye, rubbing Radar’s back. “You sure you wouldn’t like to sleep it off?”  
“NO! I said I had to work to do, and I DO! If I don’t do it, it won’t get done.” Radar crossed his arms stubbornly. “And it has to get done. I have to work. I have to. I hav-” Radar’s gray eyes bulged.  
“Radar?”  
“Oh boy.” Radar wrapped his arms around his belly, doubling over his knees. Before Trapper and Hawkeye to move to help him, Radar had emptied the contents of his stomach on the ground. Pale and shaking, he lowered himself to a sitting position, retching and sputtering.  
Hawkeye and Trapper were beside him in a flash. Rubbing his back and brushing his curls out of his eyes, they waited for him to be done before helping him to his feet and half-dragging, half-carrying him to their tent.  
“Get a trash can.” Hawkeye elbowed Trapper.  
“Our own trash can? What is this, Paradise?”  
“A bowl, a hat! I don’t care!”  
“Easy, Radar.”  
“Do you feel like you’re going to be sick again?”  
The two lowered Radar to Hawkeye’s cot, shoving and slapping each other’s hands out of the way to feel his forehead.  
“Do you feel any better after getting sick?” Trapper asked, rubbing Radar’s back.  
“Mm-mm.” Radar shook his head, clutching his stomach. “Hurts more.”  
“More?” Hawkeye and Trapper eyed each other. “Why don’t you lie down, Radar?”  
Not needing to be told twice, Radar curled up in a ball on his side, hugging his legs into his chest. He was shaking, soaked in sweat, and clammy. The kid looked positively awful. It was as if a switch had flipped—he was no longer able to hide it.  
“Can you uncurl yourself for a second? Then, I promise we’ll leave you alone.” Hawkeye moved Radar to his back, pulling his jacket to see his stomach. “Where does it hurt, specifically?”  
“Stomach.”  
“Where on your stomach?”  
Radar moved his hands around his lower belly, holding it especially over his right side.  
“Your right side hurts? Oh boy.” Hawkeye exchanged a look with Trap, then began to press the young corporal’s abdomen carefully.  
“AH!” Radar arched his back as Hawkeye pressed down, batting at his hands and fighting to curl back up so Hawkeye couldn’t reach him.  
“I’m sorry, kid. I know it hurts.” Hawkeye motioned to Trapper, who gently held Radar’s hands together lovingly but firmly, keeping them out of Hawkeye’s way. “Just hold still. I’m not trying to hurt you.”  
Hawkeye moved to Radar’s lower right side. At his touch, Radar’s eyes bulged. His mouth fell open, letting out a strained squeak.  
“Do you feel a difference there than the rest of your belly?” Hawkeye asked.  
Radar bit his lip, nodding his head rapidly. “YES!”  
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. It’s over. Curl back up.”  
Radar wrapped his arms back around his stomach, curling on his side. Trapper rubbed Radar’s arm, turning back to Hawkeye, who had started to stand up.  
“I’m guessing we’re thinking the same thing?”  
“That his appendix is rapidly becoming the size of Korea?”  
“Yep.”  
“What?” Radar jerked up, wincing silently.  
“I’m afraid so.” Hawkeye quipped.  
“Wha- no. That doesn’t mean I have to have surgery, does it?”  
“It’s a simple procedure, Radar, I could do it in my sleep.” Hawkeye said.  
“I catch him performing sleep-appendectomies all the time, actually.” Trapper smiled.  
Radar didn’t blink. “No.”  
“‘No?’ What do you mean ‘no?’”  
“I’m not having surgery.”  
“You’re going to feel better afterwards! We can’t leave that thing in you!”  
“I’ll take my chances.”  
“Radar, you’re getting your appendix out. Tomorrow at the latest.”  
“Nope.”  
“Rada-”  
Trapper put his hand over Hawkeye’s mouth, mouthing ‘let him be.’ “Hey,” Trapper nudged Radar, “you want anything? Anything in this camp, you’ve got it.”  
After a long silence, Radar bit his lip. “Water might be okay. Getting sick leaves a bad taste.”  
“I can do water.” Trapper smiled, motioning for Hawkeye to follow. “We’ll be right back.”  
“So,” Hawkeye said as soon as they were out of earshot, “he’s getting that appendix out, right?”  
“Oh-h-h-h yes. But why worry him now?”  
“You’re right.” Hawkeye sighed. “Poor kid. Appendicitis hurts like hell. Got mine out when I was seventeen.”  
Trapper smiled slightly. “I know it’s silly, he turned eighteen years old a few months ago, he can take care of himself, but gosh, I hate seeing Radar down. I wish I could keep him away from all the bad things in this world. And I’d start with Korea.”  
“I know it, I know it.”  
________________

The pair made their way to the mess tent, finding a cup of water and a few crackers for Radar.  
“Hey, what’s with the cardboard?” Henry jogged up behind Hawkeye, nodding towards the stale food.  
“It’s for Radar. Poor kid is down with appendicitis.”  
“Wait, wha- appenda- Radar’s sick?” Henry grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place. “His appendix? I should go see him! Where’s he at? Oh boy, I had him working all day! I didn’t even notice he wasn’t feeling well.”  
“Somehow I think he’ll forgive you. Besides, we’ve got him. He’s in our tent, resting.”  
“Well, I should go see him, right? Make sure he’s okay?”  
“If you want, Henry,” Trapper smirked a little, “but he’ll be okay once he agrees to do the surgery.”  
“He’s refusing?”  
“Fairly adamantly, actually.”  
“Maybe I can convince him.”  
“Henry,” Hawkeye rolled his eyes, handing the cup and crackers to the man, “you wouldn’t want to take these to Radar yourself, would you?”  
Henry’s eyes widened. “Oh! Well, sure. The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, but…”  
“Come off it, Henry. Go see your surrogate son.”  
Henry nodded with a grin, scurrying off to Hawkeye’s tent. With a soft knock, he stuck his head inside, taking in the picture of his company clerk.  
The poor kid looked miserable. His curls, damp with sweat, were plastered to his pale, clammy face. He was curled up in a ball, clutching his right side, eyes squeezed shut. He was shivering slightly.  
“Hey, kiddo.” Henry crouched down to the cot, rubbing Radar’s arm. He opened his eyes sleepily, squinting as Henry came into focus.  
“Colonel.” The soft murmur was barely audible.  
“I hear you’re not feeling so well. What’s up?”  
“Uh…” Radar pursed his lips a little. “Cap’n Pierce said I have appenda...appendacit-itas.”  
Henry chuckled. “Appendicitis?”  
“That too.”  
“I brought you some grub.”  
Radar struggled to sit up, sinking into his pillow with a wince. “Oh, thank you, sir.” He reached towards the glass with shaking fingers. Even the small cup felt like it weighed a ton.  
“Here…” Henry put his hand under the glass to steady it, helping Radar tilt it to his lips, then bringing it back down gently. “There ya go.” Radar attempted a smile, nodding a little as Henry held out one of the crackers. “When was the last time you ate something?”  
“Mmmmm...I ate a little dinner last night.”  
“You need some food in you.”  
“...Not hungry.”  
“Radar, eat.”  
Radar shook his head. “I don’t mean ‘ta disobey your orders, sir, but I don’t want to.”  
“Radar-r-r-r…” Radar shook his head, suddenly squeezing his eyes closed. “Radar?”  
Radar threw the blankets off quickly, throwing himself over the edge of the bed, coughing and vomiting into the bucket Hawkeye had put beside the cot.  
“Whoa!” Henry jumped to the bed, grabbing Radar around the waist, keeping him from falling off the bed. “C’mon, back up. There you go. Thatsaway.”  
Radar fell back on the pillow, panting and gagging, wiping at his mouth. The poor kid had never looked so young and alone, coughing as Henry grabbed a towel scattered carelessly on the floor and began to clean off his face.  
“You’re one sick kiddo, huh?” Henry’s eyes were filled with concern. “I had no idea you weren’t feeling good. I should have. I’m so sorry I had you working.”  
Radar shook his head. “S’okay.”  
“That appendix is gonna have to come out, you know.”  
“Don’t want surgery.”  
“I know.” Henry patted his shoulder. “Hey, do you want anything? Do you want me to get you a clean shirt?” Radar’s was soiled with sweat and sickness.  
Radar thought for a minute, biting his lip. Finally, he nodded shyly, looking up with big eyes.  
“Okay. I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” Henry smiled warmly, tousling Radar’s auburn hair.  
When he returned with a new shirt for the poor kid, Radar’s face was half-hidden in his pillow. He didn’t react to Henry’s presence until Henry gently and somewhat awkwardly helped him to a sitting position. Radar’s face was clearly defiant, obviously still ready to fight about surgery and having just about the most miserable day of his life.  
“Could you, ah…could you turn around, sir?” Radar asked softly before taking off his shirt.  
“Of course.”  
As he sat with his back to Radar as he changed shirts, Henry couldn’t help but notice the quiet sniffling coming from behind him. He waited patiently until he was done before turning back, eyes full of compassion. “Hey, kiddo, don’t worry too much, okay? It’s not as bad as all that.”  
“But...but…”  
“What?”  
“What if it doesn’t...go right or somethin’? And...and I’ll have to sleep a bunch, which means I can’t work. And if I can’t work, nothing will get done and I’ll be, well, useless. I don’t want you all waitin’ on me, and bringn’ me food, or having to pay all that attention to me.” Radar pouted.  
“What’s wrong with being taken care of once in a while?”  
“Oh, you sirs have more important things to do! I don’t want to take up all that time.”  
“Radar…”  
“What, Sir?”  
“Radar.”  
“Sir?”  
“You need the operation!” Henry laughed a little. “And I’ll make you a deal. Once it’s over and you’re awake, I’ll kick your butt if you don’t jump straight up and get to work.”  
“Well…”  
“And there’s a Grape Nehi in it for you.”  
“Fine.” Radar sighed. “I guess you know best, Sir.”  
“So, you’ll do it?” Henry smiled.  
“Yeah.” Radar nodded. “I’m sorry I was being so stubborn. It’s hard to be nice when you hurt.”  
“I know, kiddo.” Henry chuckled, slapping Radar lightly on the back. “It’s okay. Now, hey. You need to get some rest. I’m gonna leave you alone now so you can go to sleep, alright?”  
“Yessir.” Radar nodded softly, settling on his side. “Thank you, sir.”  
“Sleep tight, Radar.”  
Henry smiled, closing the door softly behind him. Hawkeye and Trapper were already there, sitting outside playing a hand of cards. At his presence, the two doctors looked up. “Hey there, Henry! How’s the kid?”  
“Well,” Henry hitched his thumbs in his pocket, “he’s agreed to the surgery.”  
“Really?” Trapper looked up incredulously. “How’d you swing that?”  
“I don’t know. I just talked to him. But he’s going with it!” Henry exclaimed.  
“Hallelujah. He’s agreed not to kill himself for no reason.” Hawkeye said dryly.  
“Pierce-”  
“Sorry. It’s good, it’s good. In fact, you know what? Hey, I’ll be back. I’m gonna go get something I think Radar might like.” Hawkeye stood up, turning on his heel and heading for Radar’s tent.  
After fishing a certain stuffed bear out from under Radar’s bed, Hawkeye made the round to his tent for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Trapper and Henry had disappeared by the time he came back—that was okay with him. He knew Radar didn’t like for many people to see the bear.  
He crept through the door of the tent as quietly as he could, expecting to put the teddy bear in the sleeping boy’s arms and creep back out again.  
The image he was met with instead was far worse.  
The blankets on the bed had been thrown to the floor. Radar’s face was pressed in the pillow, knees hugged into his chest and eyes squeezed shut. He was whimpering, drenched in sweat, pale and clammy.  
“Radar? Radar! Hey!” Hawkeye bolted to his side, skidding on his knees beside the bed. “What’s going on?!”  
Radar didn’t answer. His little body was jerking and trembling, and his breath had turned to jagged gasps.  
Hawkeye rolled him to his back, prying his hands away from his face. “Radar, hey. Radar!”  
Tears rolled down Radar’s round cheeks, still not opening his eyes. “Ow-w-w…Hawk-Hawkeye…!”  
“I’m here. I’m right here. Tell me what’s happening.”  
“My stomach. It hurts REALLY bad. OW, Hawkeye! Make it stop! Make it go away!” His voice reached a fever pitch, then broke with a loud, sharp yell. Hawkeye winced at the usually-collected, shy corporal’s wailing.  
“Okay, okay, it’s okay! It’s okay! I’ve got you. Shhh.” Hawkeye jumped to the edge of the bed, letting Radar’s upper-body fall limply into his lap. Rubbing his back soothingly, Hawkeye wriggled his hand to reach Radar’s forehead. “Oh, kid, you’re burning up. C’mere. Let's check your stomach.” He helped Radar lean back against his pillow, lifting Radar’s shirt to see his right side. “It’s swollen. You see that bump?” Hawkeye muttered, more to himself than to his patient. Sure enough, the right side of Radar’s lower-stomach was swollen and rounded. “We need to get that out.”  
Radar was sobbing by now. “I just want it to stop! Make it, make it stop! Please!” He kicked the remaining ends of the blanket to the ground, writhing in pain. He was shivering like a leaf.  
“Okay, okay...shhhhh. Don’t cry.” Hawkeye said softly. He picked the blanket up off the floor, wrapping it around his younger friend, pulling the blanket-wrapped, curled-up ball into his arms and rubbing his back. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. Don’t cry.”  
Radar gasped for even breaths, letting himself be rocked back and forth. If he were back home right now...oh, if he were back in Iowa, his Ma would take care of him, find a way to make it all better. But she wasn't here. Not anymore.  
Radar didn't want to be alone. “Don't worry. Don't worry. We’ll do the operation tomorrow, alright? You can’t eat or drink anything for at least eight hours before surgery, which you’ve already done, so we’ll have to wait those hours before we can do it. Then, we’ll get you taken care of. I promise.” Radar sniffled loudly, wishing he were anywhere else but here; back in Ottumwa, he'd be safe. Back in Ottumwa, he'd be loved. "Don't cry. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you." Hawkeye guided Radar back down his pillow, still wrapped tightly in his blanket. “Let me see what I can do about getting you something for the pain. I’ll check back in on you later, okay? Try and get some sleep.”  
Radar nodded, hand clasped protectively over his swollen side. Before leaving, Hawkeye retrieved the bear that had been tossed aside during the chaos and fixed it through the blanket to Radar’s arms.  
_____________________

It was Trapper who carried Radar from his bed to the OR. The poor kid was in too much pain to straighten up to walk. The right side of his belly was slightly more swollen, round and protruding from his skin. Radar hated to look at it. It made him feel even more sick to his stomach. He’d barely slept at all last night—Hawkeye had insisted on him staying in him and Trapper’s tent so they could keep an eye on him. Guilt over being the cause of Hawk sleeping on the floor, discomfort over not being in his own bed, and the shooting pain in his body had kept Radar up for hours.  
He’d thrown up again in the morning. Combined with the fact that he hadn’t eaten in almost two days, he was so weak he could hardly see straight. Hawkeye and Trapper just sat up with him as he got sick, soothingly rubbing his back or his belly or whatever else they could reach, arm, shoulder, even his hand, for no other reason than letting themselves not feel so helpless.  
Nothing was in focus for Radar as Trapper laid him on the operating table. He was vaguely aware that Margaret Houlihan had placed a mask over his face, whispering “Close your eyes, just like you’re going to sleep. You’ll be just fine, sweetheart.”  
Finally, he couldn’t feel the ever-present ache in his stomach as he drifted peacefully to sleep.  
______________

“Hey there. Welcome back. How’re you feeling, sweetheart?”  
Radar awoke to Margaret’s cool hand on his forehead.  
“That’s the second time I’ve heard you call him ‘sweetheart.’ What’s up with the ‘sweethearts?’ I’ve never heard you call anyone sweetheart. I didn’t know you knew nice words like that.” That was Hawkeye’s voice.  
“Oh, be quiet. I can be nice. Just not to you.” The blonde nurse quipped back.  
“Oh honey,” Hawkeye nudged Radar, “sweetie. Dearie. Babyface.”  
“Oh, shut up!” Radar heard a smack as Margaret whacked a towel against Hawk’s arm. “I didn’t say any of that.”  
“Hawkeye…” Radar slurred drowsily  
“Hey there, sleepyhead.” Hawkeye smiled.  
“Oh sure, you can use names.” Margaret rolled her eyes, turning on her heel and stalking away.  
“‘Sleepyhead’ isn’t all cutsey!” Hawkeye called, then turning back to his young patient. “Welcome back. The surgery went perfectly.”  
“Really?” Radar let his eyes close again.  
“How do you feel?”  
“Floaty!” Radar bubbled loopily.  
Hawkeye chuckled. “And welcome to the world of pain medication. You can go back to sleep if you want.”  
“Mmmmm...okay.”  
Hawkeye grinned as Radar settled back to sleep, a sweet smile on his dimpled face. That was the thing about being a surgeon—no matter how helpless he was as a friend, no matter how little he could do about someone’s pain when he wasn’t in scrubs, he could fix anything in his OR.  
And Radar was worth every minute.  
The swelling had gone down in his belly, and the color had come back to his face. Hawkeye reached into the folds of his jacket, pulling out the teddy bear he’d been hiding in it since he began the surgery, nestling it in Radar’s arm so it rested on his cherubically-plump cheek. Radar shifted a bit in his sleep, but didn’t stir a bit.  
“Have a good rest, Corporal, I’ll be in to check on you later.” Hawkeye smiled, turning to see Trapper standing silently outside the door. “Hey. What’s with the skulking?”  
“Oh, just checkin’ in.” Trapper grinned. “You okay?”  
“Oh, yeah. I just wanted to make sure the kid was comfortable.”  
Trapper wandered in, thumbs casually in his pockets. “Aw. We're such good parents. I’m so proud of our little boy.” He grinned, looking down at the sleeping corporal.  
“The more we corrupt him, the better parents we’ll be. When he’s up, we trade his Grape Nehi in for a beer.”  
“Speaking of which, buy you a drink at the still?”  
“Only the finest champagne.”  
“Deal.” The two started out of the OR, each casting back a look at the peacefully sleeping Radar.  
“Or, you know, we could bring the drink here and keep an eye on the kid.”  
“Even better idea.”


End file.
